Gone
by citysinger13
Summary: They were gone. Even after eight years, it was still hard for Kendall to deal with them being gone forever. TRIGGERING CONTENT INSIDE. Rated T for self-injury. One-shot.


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Big Time Rush or any of its characters.**

**WARNING: May be triggering.**

It was dark. That made sense. It was past midnight and everyone in the apartment was asleep. Except him. He was awake. Awake, sitting on his bed. He leaned against the headboard, his long legs bent at the knee, pulled up to his chest like a child. He wore a plain white shirt, red plaid pajama pants, and a grey beanie on his head. He had just pulled on a sweatshirt that he thought might belong to James. It was too big on him, and hung loosely on his skinnier frame.

Kendall covered his nose and mouth with his hands, folded as though in prayer, and took a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself. His eyes squeezed shut against the pain that was wracking his body. It wasn't physical pain. It was purely mental. It was awful. There was no defense.

_Yes there is,_ he forced himself to think. _Peace. Happiness. Don't torture yourself, Kendall. _

But still, the guilt and pain snuck through those flimsy walls he was trying to put up. He knew he shouldn't feel this way. But he couldn't help it. It just happened on its own.

Usually it was easier to deal with. But at this time of year…around when it had happened…he always found it harder.

He knew his mom had it rough around now too. During the days he would put on a brave face for her, so if she broke down , she'd have her strong man of a son to turn to for comfort. That was his job now. Katie too—she didn't suffer as much…she'd been so young when it had happened…but she still remembered.

"_Are you sure you don't wanna come along, Kendall?" _

"_Da-ad."_

"_Dad, he can't come, he doesn't want to go shopping with us."_

"_All right, all right! But you know, you'll need new clothes soon too, kiddo. Your sister is suckering me out of my money for new stuff. I'm feeling pretty generous."_

"_C'mon dad!"_

"_Bye Kendall. I love you."_

"_Love you dad. Bye Kayla."_

"_Later, runt. Can we go now, dad?"_

"_All right! Let's shake a leg!"_

He could see them. It had been eight long years but he could still see them walk out the door that final, fateful time. His older sister Kayla. Fourteen. About to start her first year of high school. Her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. She'd been wearing a green shirt and a pair of jeans with holes in them. His mom had just gotten mad at her about those pants. But Kayla hadn't listened. Just as stubborn as Kendall was. He'd learned from the best.

His father. Strong, tall, with the same sandy blonde hair that his two older children shared. Wearing his favorite plaid shirt with a pair of jeans. He always wore plaid. On his head he'd been wearing a Maple Leaves baseball cap. His favorite hockey team.

Kendall could hear the jingle of the keys as his dad pulled them from the hook on the wall. In his mind, in this flashback, Kendall could only look helplessly at his ten-year-old self, staring at the television, mindlessly watching cartoons and eating his cereal. But he wanted to scream. Scream and shout to get them to stop, to make them wait even just five minutes. If they would have just waited…if Kendall had decided at the last minute to go with them and made them wait while he got dressed…they wouldn't have been there at that moment, at that exact time that a driver had turned out in front of them, causing his father to swerve into the next lane. Straight into an eighteen-wheeler.

If they had waited only five minutes, they wouldn't have died.

But they were gone. Gone.

He couldn't help but glance at the photo at his bedside. The family portrait with Mr. and Mrs. Knight, and their three children. Kayla, a 14-year-old beauty, on the left; the innocent-looking four-year-old Katie on the right; and in the middle, Kendall, tall for his age of ten, his arm wrapped around Kayla's shoulders and his hand holding Katie's.

His parents were smiling at the camera, one of Mrs. Knight's hands resting on Kayla's shoulders, while one of Mr. Knight's was on Kendall's. Their other hands were joined.

They were a perfect happy family.

Two tears spilled out of his stunningly bright green eyes and left salty tracks down his cheeks. He wiped them away impatiently and then sighed as two more fell to replace those.

"Stop crying," he murmured to himself. He looked up at the ceiling to stop his tears that fell of their own accord, and then glanced back at what lay in front of him.

On his blue comforter, standing out to him like a sore thumb, was his pocket knife. Open, sharp, glistening even in the dark of the room. It was taunting him, begging him to take it and press it to his thin flesh, to feel relief given by the icy cold pain of its blade cutting into his skin. Physical pain to distract from the mental—physical punishment to alleviate his guilt.

He gulped, his hand traveling down to his wrist and gripping it tightly. He stretched the pale skin tight, making the old scars stand out, white against his skin. They were barely noticeable. Years and years old. He shut his eyes tight as another flashback took hold.

"_Kendall, you all right?"_

_Kendall gave a start at the sound of his name. He looked up to see his three best friends staring at him across the lunch table. He suddenly realized that the bell had just rung and everyone was getting up to go—and he was still just sitting there, picking at his food._

_He immediately stood. "Yeah!" he assured them. "I'm great. Sorry. Tired."_

"_Why are you tired?" Carlos wanted to know. "Up late?"_

"_As always," Kendall admitted. "Can't seem to sleep lately. I'm fine though."_

"_Okay, well if you're sure…" James let his voice trail off._

"_I'm sure!" Kendall said with a fake, but convincing, smile on his face._

_James gave a small sigh and shrug, then lightly hit Carlos on the shoulder and gestured that they should go—the two of them had math this next period. Logan waited for Kendall, since they had English together. _

_Logan walked with Kendall over to the trash can, chattering away about something or other—frankly Kendall couldn't seem to focus. He mindlessly scratched an itchy wrist. His long-sleeved shirt was rubbing uncomfortably against semi-fresh cuts._

_He didn't realize that he'd pulled up the sleeve a bit, and exposed these scars. He didn't even really notice Logan's chatter stop. But then Logan grabbed his arm and made him stop, pulling him into the boys restroom outside the cafeteria._

"_Whoa," Kendall objected. "What are you doing? We're going to be late."_

_Logan didn't answer. He grabbed Kendall's arm and, a bit forcefully, pulled the shirt sleeve up to expose the scars. He turned his shocked face up to Kendall's, all the color drained from it and his eyes wild with surprise._

_Kendall felt his own eyes widen, his stomach drop, and his heartbeat quicken. "L-l-Logan," he sputtered. "Logan, I…I…"_

"_What is this?" Logan demanded. "What _is _this? What have you been doing?"_

_He saw the disgust in his best friend's face. Kendall wrenched his arm away and pulled his sleeve down. "It's none of your business." He tried to push past Logan._

_But Logan sure as hell wasn't going to let him leave. He gripped Kendall by the shoulders and forced him to stop. "It is definitely my business," Logan hissed. "Have you been hurting yourself?"_

_Kendall felt his eyes welling up with tears at the prospect of having been caught. He couldn't think of a way out of this. He couldn't think of what he could lie about this time. "Please don't tell," he finally begged, not able to think of any excuse. "Please don't tell anyone."_

"_Kendall, I have to!" Logan exclaimed. Kendall felt his heart stop._

"_No, no, no, you can't tell," Kendall begged. He felt his knees weakening, and he grabbed Logan to steady himself. "Please, please promise me Logan."_

_Logan looked desperate. "I can't let you keep doing this to yourself," he said wildly. "You have to stop."_

"_I don't know if I can," Kendall confessed. "I don't think I can. If I try to stop, even for a few days, eventually…I _have _to, Logan."_

"_Is it because…because of your dad and Kayla?" Logan asked hesitantly. Even after four years, people still were shaky in talking about the tragedy that had struck the Knight family._

"_I don't want to talk about this," Kendall insisted._

"_Well, tough, you've got to," Logan said, sounding far more like Kendall than Kendall did._

_The final bell rang. Logan didn't even flinch. Logan had never been late to class. Ever. But he just stared at Kendall, his brown eyes locked on Kendall's green ones, looking strong and ready to face this battle his best friend had presented him._

_Kendall felt something inside of him collapse and his body seemed to crumble upon himself. He sank slowly to his knees, Logan following him down, trying to keep him standing. Kendall kneeled in front of Logan, who was on one knee in front of him, his hands still strongly gripping Kendall's shoulders. _

"_It's like this," Kendall finally began._

And he'd told Logan the whole story. The unrelenting guilt he'd felt for the four years since his father and sister had died in that car wreck. The sadness and aching grief that was still hanging onto him. The need to inflict pain upon himself, to punish himself for what he'd done, and also to help him, to get rid of the mental pain by replacing it with a more substantial physical pain.

Logan had listened so well. He'd nodded, and gripped Kendall's hands in his own, and hugged him when Kendall couldn't go on talking because sobs had taken him. And then he'd sat back and told Kendall that he should tell his mom how he felt.

Oh, of course, Kendall had objected. Tell his mom? Let her know that her son was intentionally mutilating himself? Because she needed more grief in her life. No, that couldn't happen.

He'd eventually convinced Logan of this, on the condition that Kendall would quit cutting. He didn't need to, Logan insisted. He had Logan to lean on if the pain got too bad. He needed to talk out his pain instead of letting it come out this way.

Eventually, Logan had convinced him to also confide in James and Carlos. They'd reacted badly, worse than Logan had.

"_How would you like it if one of us was doing that, Kendall?" James yelled. Kendall cringed as he drew his knees up to his chest, sitting on his bed. Thank God his mom and Katie weren't home to hear this. "This is without a doubt the _stupidest _thing you've ever done! You could've killed yourself, you know!"_

_Carlos turned a face full of questions towards Kendall. "That's not what you wanted, was it?" he asked quietly._

"_No!" Kendall insisted. "I never wanted to kill myself. And James…I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking of you guys honestly…"_

"_Obviously!" James spat. "I can't believe you'd do that. _You, _of all people. Kendall, it's so selfish!"_

_Kendall swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. _

_Logan didn't let that pass as easily as Kendall did. "Back off James," he'd snarled. "You don't understand even a little bit of what Kendall's going through. It was not intended to hurt you. _Not everything is about you_. I'm sorry to have to break that to you."_

_James had been fuming silent for the rest of the day, but had promised along with Carlos to be there for Kendall from now on._

The next day, James had come to Kendall to apologize. He'd looked up information on why people self-harm on the internet, apparently read a few testimonials from former and current self-harmers and was prepared to be supportive without judgment from then on. And for that Kendall had been grateful.

He'd had some rough days—a few relapses that had only lasted a day or two at most. With his best friends, he hadn't been able to fall back into the old habit easily. For almost a year, at least one of them would check his wrists daily, especially if he wore long sleeves. Finally, they'd trusted him enough to not check his body for physical signs of his pain. But they still always checked up on him.

Since coming out to LA, their checks had gotten less and less frequent. It was natural—he was getting better. He hadn't had so much as a craving to cut himself for a year and a half. He hadn't done it since freshman year.

But now…tonight…it was here. So strong, and without apparent warning. He took another deep breath, wrapping his arms around his knees and pulling them even tighter to his chest, as he stared at the knife.

He didn't want to do it. But so what if he did? One time. That's all it would be. Just one time. He needed it.

No one here to stop him. Mom and Katie were long asleep. The boys were all out on dates—Kendall had told them he had a date with Jo. And he'd told Jo he was hanging out with the guys. He was by himself.

He reached a shaking hand towards the knife, but stopped halfway there, his hand shaking. He left it there for a few seconds, trembling, then drew his hand back. Suddenly he reached back and grabbed it.

He didn't put it to his wrist. He just turned it over and over in his hand. He stared at his reflection in the polished metal.

_So much like his father_.

He squeezed his eyes shut again against the thoughts. Relief was so close, it was in his hand…

The door opened, as did his eyes.

Logan, standing in the doorway, turned on the overhead. Kendall blinked at the sudden light, but he didn't miss the look on Logan's face.

The smile that had graced his friend's face as he had come in the room had been wiped away without a trace at the sight of Kendall on the bed, a knife gripped in his hand. Logan crossed the room in two long strides, and grabbed Kendall's hand, taking the knife out of his grip. Kendall just sat there, totally numb to the situation, which only seemed to concern Logan more.

"James, Carlos," Logan called, loudly enough that the boys—who had apparently arrived home with Logan—would hear, but Mama Knight and Katie downstairs wouldn't be disturbed.

The other two friends showed up in an instant. They assessed the situation with the same quickness that Logan had. Within seconds, Logan had handed the knife off to James, who immediately closed it and stowed it in his pocket. Logan and Carlos had pushed up both sleeves of the sweatshirt and were looking for telltale bleeding cuts.

"What did you do?" Logan demanded, not sounding angry but just determined.

"Nothing," Kendall said quietly. "I didn't. I wasn't…I wasn't going to…I don't think I was going to."

"I thought you were out with Jo tonight," Carlos said softly, enfolding Kendall's still-trembling hand in both of his own.

"I lied," Kendall admitted in a small voice.

"Kendall, you know you're supposed to talk to us if you feel like this," James reminded him, putting his arm on Kendall's shoulder and squeezing it, looking at Kendall with such brotherly love and concern that Kendall could feel his eyes tearing up again.

"I know."

"That still stands out here in LA," Logan told him. "We're still here for you. We've been here for you. I know things have been a little crazy these past couple of years…but nothing will ever change the fact that we love you. And we're here for you."

Kendall took a deep, shaking breath. "I know. It's just…hard."

Logan squeezed Kendall's hand. "We know, buddy."

He looked up at James, beside him. "They're gone, James. They're gone forever."

James shook his head sadly. "You'll see them again, Kendall. You know you will."

"I want to feel okay again," Kendall confessed.

"We want that too," Logan told him gently.

"We're here to help," Carlos insisted.

"Anytime," James added, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Kendall.

"We are always here," Logan finished.

Kendall nodded, feeling himself calming with his friends now at his side. "You are always here, aren't you?" he said slowly. "And in a weird way…_they'll _always be here, won't they? They aren't really gone."

Carlos and Logan each squeezed one of the hands of Kendall that they held, while James wrapped his arm around Kendall's shoulders. "Absolutely, bud," James murmured.

They all found their gaze drawn to the framed photo at Kendall's bedside. The smiling faces that stared out at them brought Kendall comfort instead of pain this time. And the words on the frame.

_Gone, but never forgotten._


End file.
